


The Word Was

by 19Thedas80 (VictoryRoad)



Series: 19Thedas80 - B-Sides [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (though those are mostly series tags for a fic that doesn't use them too much), Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Contains Qunlat and Tevene as fudged by me, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7110820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoryRoad/pseuds/19Thedas80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Word Was

They sat, as so many others did, around a small table lit by candlelight. It was a low, flickering backdrop to an uncomfortable tableau. It was not difficult to notice the eyes, from each and every direction, staring at them. They were a sight – to see, to be seen. There were mechanics to all social interactions – internal and external, pride and shame. It did not work for them, and so an alternative was suggested.

The Iron Bull, a man of pride and self-aggrandisement, stood before Dorian’s door in clothes that fit him poorly. They were cobbled together from large sizes he had managed to find, each hastily mangled layer having some traditional Tevinter attribute. It was in hindsight a terrible idea and, from a design perspective, little more than a cape. He saw himself in the mirror and tore it away, choosing instead to stash it in the first alcove he could find.

“ _Vashed,_ ” He said. The word was  _to give waste_ , but the feeling was one of lingering guilt.

He knocked, and after a fashion Dorian answered with a dishevelled but preened exterior. He patted his hands on a thin apron, before inviting Bull inside. There were little actions that could be read in his appearance – the way, for example, Dorian’s hair was puffed from the damp heat of cooking, yet had clearly been fidgeted with constantly to maintain his appearance. His face, which was brimming with sweat, had nonetheless been wiped clean – repeatedly, Bull could tell, as tell-tale fragments of Tevene makeup streaked lightly from his eyes.

They sat, once again by candlelight. It was brighter now, to Dorian’s preference, and it seemed almost unnecessary. Bull turned his fork slowly, a delicate and measured inspection of their meal taking place between the gestures of his hand.

“It’s –“ Dorian began, faltering. Reconsidering. It was cute, but he was awkward. This remained awkward. “Benefaria. A dish from Tevinter, normally given as a farewell to honoured guests. A thick but mild curry across more intensely spiced pieces of –“

“A farewell?” Bull was surprised, though he did not want to admit to himself that most of that surprise was at the knot growing tight in his stomach. “… Is this…?”

“No, no!” Dorian rose suddenly, his fork clattering against the plate. It splattered, and Bull rose in kind.

“Vashe-katoh!” Bull exclaimed, though it was primarily to himself. The word was _fool,_ though it was involuntary. Its pair was  _vile, soiled._  He dabbed as gently as he could at the stain Dorian had made, though it was unquestionably more of a pawing.  Dorian’s hand met his, pushing him backwards.

“Please, Bull. It’s only a little mess.” He smiled, warm and pleasant, “I can handle my own mistake.”

“But your shirt – it’s expensive, isn’t it? You’ll want to wash it out. I know stains, and –” His protestations were met with another gentle hand, and he dropped the issue. Dorian stepped out of the room, and returned moments later with a new shirt.

“It’s soaking, I promise.” He was playful, but Bull felt a small moment of wounded pride. He had only tried to help. It was petty, and he knew it, but something about Dorian made him petty and self-conscious. The Iron Bull, a man of boasts and mythmaking, felt embarrassed by it all.

“So,” Bull said after a fashion. Neither of them had touched their meal yet, though the Bull could not help but feel trepidation. Though few would admit it, Tevinter and Qunari cuisine shared similar base-foods, as did Tevinter and Orlesian. It was the fluidity of borders that did it, and Bull had eaten curry on both sides of the Nocen Sea to differing effect. His long-term memory of Tevinter cuisine was that it was spiced entirely as affectation, as back-handed a compliment he could ever muster.

“So,” Dorian replied, and Bull could tell he was waiting on him to start. Dorian had made him a lovely, home-made meal, and Bull was reluctant to eat it. Why? Because he was a snob? Food was food. He was being ridiculous. “It’s the only thing I know how to cook, I’m afraid. We had a cook on staff, and well…” He was sheepish, and now Bull felt even more ridiculous about the whole thing. He took a bite, swallowed it down, and bellowed before he could process the taste.

“ _Vashe-Masev!”_ He shouted, panting suddenly. The word was  _masev,_ often a mealy dish in its own right, but as much a command to eat. When paired, it meant  _the eaten._ It was paired again with  _vashe,_ a common exclamation. It was a signal of error, of disgust. The taste was overwhelming – a far cry from traditional Tevinter cuisine, much closer to the trans-Boric dishes of Par Vollen. It was highly spiced, far beyond Bull’s typical limit, though Dorian seemed stunned by the outburst.

“What?” He took a mouthful himself, savoured it, and swallowed with little fanfare. Bull, sweating now, looked on in horror. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s not –“ He tried to explain, but Dorian cut him off. There was something creeping in at the edges of his expression, a worry – a confusion, almost.

“Wait, that was that word again –  _vash._ ” It was common, and Bull had undoubtedly said it before in Dorian’s presence. “What does that mean?”

“Dorian,” He protested. The word was  _disgusting, distasteful, unwanted._ “It’s a swear word, it doesn’t mean what it means anymore.”

“What does it mean, Bull?” He was certain Dorian knew. It was  _excrement._

“It means  _shit,_  Dorian. I said  _shit eating._ Happy?” Bull found himself rocking backwards in protest, both hands landing on the table with a clatter. His fork splashed against the plate, but he was not concerned with stains. Dorian Pavus rose, excused himself from the table, and slipped into the other room.

Bull sat, as he so often had before, around a small table lit by candlelight. It was a low, flickering backdrop to an involuntary mistake. He had not  _meant_ it. It was just what people said.

Time passed, as it did, at a slow grind. Bull simply remained where he was, dull edge of his utensil handle digging into his palm. There had been a long road here, each step had seemed endless, and now the end was slipping from his grasp. _Was_  this the end goal? Simply being with another, without pretension or illusion? It was obvious they had no such luxury when Bull’s indelicate words were still enough to ruin everything.  _Everything._ It felt like a chasm between them, a sea of language and misunderstanding that he could not cross. It was hunger, and terror, and  _disappointment._ Was that it? No, the word was  _antir. Tired._ He wanted to sleep, he wanted to forget, and he wanted to be the one whose mind got taken away from the struggle and the frustration of responsibility. Ghostly fingers nipped at his arms as he remembered Seheron, his youth, and the simplicity of things before he crossed the Nocen Sea.

The word was  _antaam,_ body, self, where so much of that weight was kept.

He left the room, closing the door behind him with little fanfare. He reopened it to the sight of Dorian. He had heard him leave – as he had wanted – and was clearing away the plates. The dish clattered clumsily from his grip as the young mage stared slack-jawed at the sight before him.

“What – what the fuck, Bull?” He asked, and it was a mistake. The word was _hissera,_ hope, one that crumbled. The word was  _hissra,_ illusion, the last of them that he kept falling away.

“I – I made this,” He said, shifting his stance. It was equal parts proud and bashful, shame and conviction trading blows. “I wanted – I wanted you to feel comfortable, and safe, and to feel like I was legitimate. That this wasn’t just a fling. I fucked it up, and threw it away the minute I caught sight of myself in the mirror.” He slid it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “But it was window dressing, and you deserve more than that. You deserve more than someone fucking up your culture. I fuck mine up enough.”

Dorian paused, his expression faltering.

“I… I admit, I am guilty of that too.” He laughed, low and uncertain – but an encouragement nonetheless. “I can’t hold it against you when I say  _kaffas_ as much as I do. I just… Maker, it really is silly isn’t it?” He sighed, lowering himself onto his chair, turning it away from the table and towards Bull as he sat. “I’m not upset at your language, because I’m not  _eight,_ I’m just getting mad that I don’t know whole parts of you. It’s selfish.”

“Hey,” Bull said, smiling. He knelt at the foot of Dorian’s chair, supplicant and willing, with one hand in his. “I’m not even Qunari anymore. That boundary’s already moved. The word is  _Tal-Vashoth,_ it supposedly means ‘True Grey Ones’, as in ‘neither one thing nor the other’.”

“ _Vash,_ ” Dorian repeated, and they shared a knowing glance.

“If it is what I am, then it must not be the worst thing in the world.”

“There are other things you could be,” Dorian offered, his free hand cupping the edge of Bull’s chin lightly. “If you wanted,  _amatus._ ” He leaned in to kiss, and Bull pulled backwards, the pair of them falling into a heap on the floor. The patchwork cape shifted beneath him as Bull adjusted himself, pulling Dorian closer and intertwining himself with the other’s limbs. They wrapped themselves around each other, lips a prototype for hands, breaking to nip and chase at each other’s necks.

The feel of warmth and vigour against Bull’s ears made him feel just as he had wanted – centred, quiet, simple and free of illusion. There was nothing between them but clothes, and he pulled tightly at those before long. Dorian wore too much, but the layers pulled away neatly. Bull himself was more precarious, and with each working hand from each of their bodies a new clasp or button was found. They writhed, and pulled and slid from each other everything they could find until Dorian met Bull perfectly, their lips in perfect seal, their hands intertwining fingers, their cocks eager and ready in thick, layered wanting. Bull bucked himself, letting the head pass over and across Dorian’s. A light whimper – it sounded like heaven.

Dorian leaned back for a moment, his weight shifting to pull them apart. Bull protested, but only briefly – he instead leaned backwards and let himself moan as Dorian untangled one hand and slipped it around their combined girth. He stroked gently, loose skin shifting as foreskin parted and slipped backwards across their heads. It was a rhythm, both the same, both feeling the same. Bull pulled his still-intertwined hand away from Dorian’s and wrapped it instead around his grip. Right hand over right hand, squeezing and shifting until they were one in the same. Dorian moaned now, his hips bucking slightly with each new, controlled jerk.

The mage’s grip slipped, and a wicked grin crossed Bull’s face as he took it as a sign. His frequency increased, faster and faster, working their combined shafts faster and faster until Dorian gasped much louder than he had clearly intended.

“Maker, Bull… Not fair.” His protests didn’t last for long. Instead, he pulled back again and let his body slip down Bull’s legs. He straddled the Tal-Vashoth’s wide, imposing legs as his head came into contact with the gripping hand. His lips met the head, slipped over it, and pushed Bull’s hand down until he was forced to pull it away for the full effect.

“ _Vash,_ ” He swore, and the low hum of laugh was muffled by the thick, seemingly endless length that slipped so effortlessly towards the back of Dorian’s throat. It was a slow, self-assured motion, one well-practiced. This was hardly their first encounter, and Bull’s hand lingered firmly at the back of his head with a playful push. The mage pulled back, meeting light resistance before bobbing down once more, then withdrawing completely. He gasped slightly, a blank expression on his face as his tongue lapped at the head. This was a familiar routine now, each having found the other’s comfortable rhythms. This was _sex,_ as opposed to anything more – that was well-practiced and took time. Sex was neither simple nor easy, but it required much less in the way of rigging.

With a laugh on his lips, Bull pushed Dorian over onto his back and pinned him, his body towering over the mage as he repositioned himself. It was his turn now, and he let his cock hang lazily over Dorian’s head as his own mouth found its way to the familiar, dark appendage. He teased it lazily, long and slow licks punctuating gentle movements before taking the length itself into his mouth. It was slimmer than Bull’s certainly, but it was a comfortable fit. It slipped into his throat more akin to liquor than meat, and pressed gently at the back of his throat. He pulled backwards, savouring the familiar, somewhat sweaty, somewhat overly clean taste before -

_“VASH!_ ” He shouted, surprised. Dorian had tricks up his sleeve, apparently, and that included raising himself past Bull’s cock to meet his ass. Bull had always eaten Dorian out, so the suddenly returned favour was a surprise. It was not the first time, not by any stretch, but the young man had a certain… _apprehension_ when it came to certain acts. “I guess when you’ve started asking me to tie you up, you’re open to more things, huh?”

Bull was being coy, but he lost all track of his words as Dorian’s nimble tongue traced the outline of his hole in quick, peppered darts. It had been said that the mage had a golden tongue, and that was not too far off base. Still, Bull’s cock dangled at Dorian’s chin, his balls wrapping themselves like ears around it. He pushed back, pulling Dorian’s face away from him, and crawled backwards until they were facing each other in opposing directions.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants any longer, is that it?” Dorian asked, only for Bull to make a hurt face in return.

“I lost my pants a while back, mind if I store it somewhere else?” He grinned, and Dorian smacked him lightly in the jaw – all the effort and force of a pillow, and the Tal-Vashoth simply laughed and pulled away. Dorian adjusted himself muttering and mumbling before Bull placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No, no, let’s do it properly.” He left the room, and returned again with the long, thick bottle that they knew so well. “I know it chafes when you don’t do it this way. No pain unless you ask.” Dorian mumbled in agreement, and Bull let one hand squeeze out a steady amount onto his girth. Dorian paused for a moment, considered the room, and decided instead to climb back onto the chair. He was presenting quite clearly, his legs straddling it in reverse as his ass faced back towards the Bull. The larger man’s right hand, slick with lubricant, ran up the length of Dorian’s hanging cock before meeting at his hole. One finger first, pressing inside as the mage winced. It eased quickly, though, as time and experience overcame the chill of the night air in a room without heating. Two fingers now, working casually, before retracting and marking a slick line across Bull’s cock.

“You ready?” He asked, and Dorian nodded, all the signal that he needed. His head pushed against his ass, batting gently above the hole as a tease before forcing more pressure on it. He pushed, and Dorian inhaled sharply, and the warm depths of Dorian’s ass welcomed him as an old friend. Bull leaned forward, his chest against Dorian’s back, his hands wrapping around his body, as he thrust slowly and gently into his boyfriend.

Each movement came slow, and measured, but elicited familiar whimpers from the younger man. That was his cue, each moan was another signal to thrust slightly faster, slightly harder, until the sound of his hips against Dorian’s ass was loud and vigorous. The mage gasped in rhythmic beats, his attempts to vocalise pleasure interrupted by each new thrust.

“How you doin’?” Bull asked, slowing for a moment. He kept moving, in and out, less thrusting than he was simply keeping things running. “Are we good?”

“K… _kaffas_ , Bull,” Dorian laughed, exasperation in his voice, “Do you not _fight_ in Seheron?” It sounded meaner than he meant it, but Bull understood. “Sorry, I mean…” A playful thrust, and a groan from Dorian. “Asshole.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m having fun with.” Bull did not know what Dorian was thinking, but he knew it was related to murder.

“Look,” Another groan, another interrupted thought. “I… I mean, people fight. We are going to fight. If we didn’t, that would just mean we weren’t talking about what was wrong. We’re, _maker,_ going to have, _ugh,_ issues. As long as we, _ah,_ talk them through, that’s what, _oh,_ matters.” Dorian’s face was slightly sour, turned in half-measure as it was to Bull’s own.

“Sorry,” He apologised, “I couldn’t help myself. Slip of the…” Another thrust, a deep and pleasing groan, “… Cock.”

Against all odds, Dorian manged to pry himself from the Bull’s grip. He lifted himself, quiet but pleasing sounds _squelching_ their way from below as they parted. The mage pointed, and Bull complied, laying on his back where they had initially fallen, the patchwork cape underneath him for the sake of the carpet.

His cock, thick and upright as it was, was like a beacon to Dorian, who lowered himself gently onto it before Bull’s wandering hands could grab at his thighs. He was less than halfway down before those hands pulled, and he was pressed firmly to its base, happy sounds meeting in harmony between them. Bull’s hands retreated, the slick one instead working its way to Dorian’s cock. They matched each other, the mage’s hips buckling and heaving as the Tal-Vashoth worked his warm and aching dick.

They rocked together, Bull’s hips slowly adding thrust after thrust to Dorian’s movements, until the mage cried out in surprise. The larger man pulled his hand back, letting the white splatter that was Dorian’s cum find its own path along his chest. The young Tevinter panted and groaned for seconds that felt like all of time itself, and took a moment to breathe. Dorian, it appeared, had been pent up – at least, that was what the mess soaking into Bull’s chest implied.

“You still with me?” He asked, and Dorian nodded, a sluggishness implying he was well-spent. Bull smiled, grabbed his thighs to hold him steady, and began to thrust once more. It was faster now, more vigorous, and was undoubtedly putting strain on the tired mage’s knees, but each pump felt like heaven. Dorian’s cum was drying on his chest now, changing and shifting with each thrust, and the low-key, high-note smell of it gently wafted to Bull’s nostrils. He was panting now, running out of steam, but he was so close. Just a little more – and that was that, one final thrust, one bucking of his hips that locked in place as he came. He released, Dorian slipping from his hold as a familiar slickness rolled down his cock and twinkled in the room’s lighting from between the mage’s cheeks as he moved to lay alongside the Bull. The Tal-Vashoth shifted, pulling his patchwork monstrosity from underneath himself to lay across them as Dorian fell into his arms. The world had returned to The Iron Bull, but it was quieter now. There were no more words to conquer.

“Taarsidath-an halsaam,” Bull whispered to himself. Dorian heard, but did not rouse himself. Instead they simply lay, one alongside the other under his embarrassment of a Tevinter cape, until at last there on the floor, sleep finally took over.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ostensibly part of 19Thedas80, but I've removed most setting markers beyond the base level to make it just as easily close to canon. I will probably de-sexy it and add another vignette or two to make it part of the normal 19Th80 vignettes at some point in the future.


End file.
